


XXL

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-14 22:36:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumors spread fast amongst the Beacon Hills High student body, so Stiles really shouldn't have been surprised when everyone suddenly became interested in his junk after the whole fiasco in Finstock's class.</p>
            </blockquote>





	XXL

**Author's Note:**

> Idea from [this](http://rostheriveter.tumblr.com/post/52687868542/stiles-has-to-start-pissing-in-the-stalls-with-the) tumblr post.

In hindsight, he really should’ve seen this coming.

He supposes it’s wholly his fault, though; he really should’ve gotten rid of the condom once Heather disappeared. But no, he just had to slide it into the pocket (because it would be oh-so-useful for Stiles in all of his perpetual virginity) of his favorite jeans, right where he keeps his cell phone and loose change. Like an idiot. And of course, the Beacon Hills High School student body is so devoid of any form of entertainment (because not everyone gets to be lucky enough to be dragged into life-or-death supernatural situations on a weekly basis) that by the end of the day the entire fucking school knows that Stiles Stilinski is carrying around an XXL condom. 

Some of the attention is pretty damn sweet, really. Coach Finstock keeps giving him these odd, approving nods when they pass in the hall. He catches a group of cheerleaders (varsity cheerleaders) checking him out in the hall, winds up walking headfirst into an open locker when one of them smiles flirtatiously and waves her fingers at him. Scott just keeps grinning like an idiot, patting Stiles on the back randomly and looking somewhat like a proud father.

But then people start looking a little too closely.

He catches Greenberg trying to sneak a peek at his junk in the locker room. He promptly lets out a rather undignified yelp and yanks his gym shorts up, shooting a glare at the guy until he looks away.

“Dude!” he says, affronted, “No peeksies in the locker room!”

Beside him, Scott snorts, tugging his shirt over his head. “Probably just trying to see if the rumors are true. I wouldn’t want to see it, though. I don’t think my ego could take that.”

He claps Stiles on the shoulder (a little too hard, fucking werewolves and their fucking superstrength, man) and grins before trotting off to gym, leaving Stiles to groan and slam his head against a locker. 

People thinking he’s getting laid? Great.

People thinking he’s incredibly blessed in the pants? Fucking awesome.

People trying to see first-hand how blessed he is? Kind of weird.

Especially when he catches some acne-ridden freshman trying to catch a glimpse of his dick in the bathroom. 

Or when some busty brunette sidles up to him in the hall and tries to grope him through his jeans (not that he’s totally complaining, people wanting to touch his dick is very definitively filed under the “very good things” category, but he’d at _least_ like to know her name first), only stopping when Harris barks a threat of detention.

Or the obvious once-over that Lydia gives him in the library. She rolls her eyes at Stiles’s affronted look, tossing her strawberry-blonde hair over a shoulder.

“Last year you would’ve killed for me to check you out,” she says haughtily, “Besides, there’s no way it’s true. I’ve never met a guy who needed an XXL.”

She gives him one more look before pursing her lips and strutting off. (Stiles doesn’t even look at her ass. Much.)

Even Danny’s giving him those looks, half-impressed and half-curious.

“Oh come on!” Stiles finally says, the third time he catches Danny looking at him during study hall, “You too?”

Danny just shrugs, eyes glinting with amusement, “Can’t blame me for wondering,” he says, gathering his stuff just as the bell rings. “The answer is yes, by the way.”

He winks, ruffling Stiles’s hair as he walks out of the room.

“Yes to…wait, is this about last year? The whole finding-me-attractive thing? Danny!”

Stiles doesn’t get a reply, but he chalks the whole encounter up as a solid win for the gay-guys-finding-him-attractive debate.

It’s not just gay guys checking him out, though, judging by the way Isaac’s looking at him. Stiles half-wonders if he’s trying to use some kind of weird wolfy sense thing (is penis-sizing a necessary skill for werewolves?), he keeps squinting disbelievingly at Stiles’s crotch as if he’s trying to measure his dick size through his jeans.

“No, Stiles,” Derek says, irritated, when he brings it up, “Werewolves don’t have x-ray vision.”

“You can’t like smell it or anything?”

Derek lets out a long-suffering sigh, looking as if he wants nothing more than to shove Stiles out the window. “No, Stiles. I can’t smell your dick.”

“Are you sure? Because Isaac keeps looking at me like he can and I mean it’s kind of a useful skill to have, isn’t it? I mean you could add some ‘mine-is-bigger-than-yours’ stuff into your pre-fight witty banter. Or like if you’re trying to hook up with someone—”

He finds himself dumped (quite unceremoniously) outside Derek’s door before he can blink.

“It was just a thought, jeez!”

Of course, despite the fact that he now has to piss in a bathroom stall with the door firmly locked behind him, the whole situation is mostly just amusing. Honestly, the amount of people who are suddenly interested in the size of his dick is almost flattering. 

Until a few days later, when his dad awkwardly walks into his room, a small pharmacy bag clutched in his hands. Stiles is firmly absorbed in researching (werewolf stuff, naturally, it’s so much more fun than the paper he has to write for Harris), doesn’t even notice his dad until he clears his throat.

“What’s up, dad?”

“Stiles,” he says, in the same voice that preceded every uncomfortable, awkward conversation Stiles had ever had with his father, “People talk. About things. About you. And a certain…incident with a condom?”

Stiles freezes, spinning around in his chair, “Dad, look…”

His father just holds up a hand, dropping the pharmacy bag on Stiles’s desk, “I don’t want to know. I mean I’m glad you’re being safe but just…keep…being safe, okay? I bought you some…stuff. So,” he grimaces, scratching at the back of his neck and resolutely not meeting his son’s eyes, “Just…use them. If you…need them.”

“I…yeah. Okay. Safe. Sex. Which…I’m having, according to people.”

“Right. So. Good talk.”

The sheriff nods once, patting the pharmacy bag once more before turning on his heel and leaving the room. Stiles takes a moment to groan, banging his head on his desk in frustration.

The box of XXL condoms (a 48-pack, how much game does that man think he has?!) gets shoved deep in the back of his nightstand drawer, where it won’t cause anymore distress in his life.

(Until four months later, when Scott finds it whilst looking for a pen and finally turns to him curiously, asking, “just how big are you, anyway?”)

**Author's Note:**

> Me on [tumblr.](http://acastlejustwaitingforyou.tumblr.com)


End file.
